Today was supposed to be the start of something big, something grand and something new.
Just desserts but now it’s just me, deserted anew. The bitch not only moved my cheese but stole it. 🧀🐁
Honey Badger 🦫🐾 don’t give a fuck. If you are not a part of the problem, she don’t want the solution. She wants the drama, the diva crying for attention and demanding her needs be met in the face of any possible, perceived because that will mean real, threat to her terrain, her territory, her terror You will continue to enable until you get it through your thick head. She is a wedge, always was and evermore shall be.
Enjoy the fucking ride to Hell in your bucket. You are all passengers on the train, captives really, to the emotional tyranny of one person’s bottomless, craven depravity.
Cheers! 🍒💀🍸🍋
It’s impossible. I cannot avoid it, the elephant in the room perhaps or more likely my life circling the drain. The agony and the pain of an unfulfilled lie and unfulfilling life, the one I’ve authored as I’ve been told by certain parties — parties who regularly undermines but that’s neither here nor there — would testify, I alone can fix it, the lie. The unceasing quest towards unhappiness is paved by the continued and continual disruptionists, the human folly of others’ encroaching neediness for attention and possessiveness: of time; material needs — see “Others’ belongings”; and of energy, the psychosomatic and the cerebral, emotional kinds.
This is the world I inhabit so when no one is in sight, I yet will search for some offense, the ones they lob casually like grenades or less explosive types, mud and snow balls that simply cause a bit of havoc and mess. So, whether it is their intent or casualness with callousness, whether it is I seeking to receive and experience or simply am unable to step back from ego-bruised points of view to rebuff offense, I alone can fix it.
So, of course, in solutions’ stead, I choose to avoid and, worse, exacerbate through emotional dissonance, noisyAF, too, the spinning of the wheels, the cleaving to and climbing the mind’s avarice-soaked walls, the whirling dervish of not taking action and instead the mental self-stroking and stoking of the fire pit, looking all around to see at once all of it so trivial and yet overwhelming, cumbersome, burdensome. Add a dollop of gross indecencies when I face my own absurd reality, the one I inhabit, the one I inhibit and the one I leave behind every day and presto! More ruins, forensic data to demonstrate where lies the body and where the mind lies to help imprison both.
It’s time and yet I keep resetting the clock, resisting the opportunity to push forth, to confront and deny, to hold to account others while I alone lay supine, paralyzed, unable to stave off the bed rot, the weight of depressive blankets keeping me warm and safe as a train’s whistle in the distance offers a bit of balm, solace and entree to fancied escapes.
The day of action followed by the day of stillness and the emptiness returns, the wine sack drained and once more unto the breach of facing a day looking at once in the rear view mirror where, indeed, objects are far closer than they appear and the road ahead, already littered with the remains of my days.
I’m still dead.